


Castles Made of Sea and Salt

by misura



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Iron Islands (Westeros), M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 10:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Theon Greyjoy, prince of the Iron Islands gets himself a salt-wife. Well, salt-husband. And the guy doesn't seem all that keen, so it's more like a salt-crush, but still. (AU where the Iron Islands's revolt succeeded)
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	Castles Made of Sea and Salt

It's a small village, barely worth the name, so Theon figures it's going to be quick and easy: kill a few of the men to show he's serious, rape a few of the prettier women, and maybe a few of the uglier ones, too, if there aren't enough of the pretty ones to go around - they should be glad of the attention, really, to get a taste of ironborn cock, and then off they go again with whatever loot they can find.

Theon's not expecting much: some food, maybe. A bit of money, if they're lucky.

It's good practice, though. It keeps the men happy, to do stuff like this every now and then, a bit of relaxation before they go back to hitting bigger targets, for bigger rewards.

Also, doing this means staying away from Pyke for a few more days, where his dad's probably waiting to give Theon another lecture about how he should have taken at least a couple of salt-wives by now, and put some babies inside of them. ('Look at your sister,' Father will say. 'She's got over a dozen already,' and never mind that Yara's a woman, so what would it matter even if she had a hundred? Not like Yara's going to be putting any babies in any of them, is it?)

So, all things considered, it about figures that it all goes to shit in about half an hour.

"What do you mean, they're fighting?" Nobody's fool enough to expect mercy from the ironborn, but even so, it's understood that if you resist, you're going to pay for it. "Who's fighting?"

Theon's true ironborn: fighting gets his blood as much heated up as fucking. Still, he had a plan, and there's the tide to consider, the wind. Spending the night ashore means appointing sentries, which means telling people they can't drink and have to spend the night by themselves.

Nobody's quite clear on the who, so Theon goes to have a look for himself, leaving it to others to decide whether or not the girl he's dragged out of one of the huts is worth the hardship of putting up with her screams. (Her lungs seem a lot more impressive than her looks, but Theon knows some of his men won't be too picky, and anyway, he supposes they might gag her.)

True enough, there's fighting. Worse: there's losses. Two of Theon's men aren't going to be getting up ever again and three of them look like they're going to need a bit of help.

Theon wonders why this sort of thing always seems to happen to him. If he'd been Yara, he'd probably have stumbled over a rich heiress or something - tons of jewelry and a fat ransom in one fell swoop.

Instead, he's getting this bloody mess.

"Those're Stark soldiers," Theon tells the moron who came and got him - a smart move in itself, but seriously? Any ironborn should be able to recognize those colors, should know the Starks killed two of Theon's brothers during the Rebellion, before they fled, tail between their legs.

It explains the fighting. The smart move would've been to keep quiet, try to blend in, but Starks aren't smart. Theon supposes they deserve credit for not being cowards, either, and given the numbers, they're doing pretty well. He might admire them, a bit, except that they're making him look bad, and he just can't be having that.

Bringing one of them home, alive - that might please Father. That might win Theon some approval, some forgiveness for losing men in a raid like this.

The problem is that while Stark soldiers aren't smart, they're not complete idiots. They know survival just means getting hurt a lot worse later on and then dying anyway, and they fight accordingly.

Theon ends up killing two of them himself. He's ready to kill a dozen more, but there's only one left, the best of the lot, facing five of Theon's men and not looking all that hard-pressed. There's one mad moment when Theon imagines ordering his men back, to leave this one to him, and then another moment when he tells himself to be sensible: they've got a couple of crossbows somewhere, and all the fancy swordsmanship in the world isn't going to defend against a crossbow bolt.

One of his men stumbles back, blood soaking his shirt, so Theon moves, takes his place, to get a closer look. He doesn't remember anything from the revolt, or his brothers. He's curious, even if he tells himself it's stupid, to expect a man to look any different just because of the house he serves.

He does, though. There's a look on his face, in his eyes. They remind Theon of a trapped wolf: it may be caught and it may be hurt, but it will die before it will be tamed.

(An illusion, Theon knows. If he delivers this man to his father, one day, he will see the beast broken, reduced to crawling on its belly, no longer even capable of begging for death.)

Theon's mouth feels dry. He realizes his cock is painfully hard. He wants to see those eyes focused only on him, to force the beast to acknowledge him as its master, its better. To have this man in his bed, not sobbing or screaming like a girl, but letting Theon fuck him like a man, a warrior, finding his pleasure on Theon's cock.

Naturally, someone ends up hitting the Stark soldier over the head from behind just when Theon's decided to go for a one-on-one fight after all, so that he can claim the man as his, on account of having paid the iron price for him. (It's a bit wobbly, but Theon reckons he might get away with it, at least until they get to Pyke.)

Theon still orders the man laid up in his cabin. No one protests. They return the dead to the sea. They set fire to a few more houses, because they can and because Theon feels pissed at how things have turned out. Before nightfall, they're gone: six men lost and seven injured, for a bit of fun, a pitiful amount of food, and one Stark soldier.

This isn't going to do any wonders for Theon's reputation as a captain.

On the bright side, Theon's prisoner has regained consciousness. He lies there, in Theon's bed, looking at Theon with his wolf's eyes, and Theon wonders if all Stark soldiers are like this.

If they are, it's a wonder his father's rebellion succeeded. Of course, no one can match the ironborn on the water, so maybe it's simply that. Wolves might be able to swim, but water isn't their element, their home. The salt of the sea isn't in their blood.

"You hungry?" Theon asks, mentally kicking himself for a fool. What should he care? The man's his prisoner, not his guest.

"I could eat." Cool, controlled voice. Less a trapped wolf now, and more something else.

Theon wants to remind the man of his place, his situation, but at the same time, it feels petty somehow, mean-spirited. Anyone would be hungry after lying unconscious for nearly a full day.

"What's your name?" Theon means it as a bribe: 'you tell me your name, and I'll get you something to eat'. He's not a servant, after all, to be fetching food for anyone at their say-so.

There's a spark of something in those wolf's eyes. "What's yours?"

"I asked first," Theon says. With anyone else, he'd be getting annoyed. He's being damned nice here, even generous, so who is this guy to refuse to even tell Theon his fucking name?

The man's lips twist in what is almost a smile. "Fair enough. I'm Robb."

Lord Stark's eldest son is named Robb. Theon figures that's made it a pretty popular name in the North. "Robb what?" he asks, not about to settle for half. "Robb Snow?"

"If you want," Robb says. "So who are you?"

"I'm Theon Greyjoy," Theon says, proudly. "That means you should feel very lucky, to have gotten captured by me," he adds. "See, I'm the prince. A very important person."

Robb fails to look at all impressed. "You hit me over the head from behind."

"I _distracted_ you so you wouldn't see the person who did that coming," Theon corrects. "It's your own fault, for not keeping up a proper guard."

"Maybe it was," Robb says. "So are you going to feed me?"

Theon almost says 'no'. Robb's really not acting like a proper prisoner, but then, he reminds himself, it's not as if Theon wants him to. Just ... a little less arrogance, a bit more gratefulness. Is that so much to ask for? Theon's not expecting Robb to lick his boots for table scraps or anything. He wants some proper respect, is all.

"Yes," he says, because someone has to, and he's kind of hungry himself. "I will." He waits a few moments, to see if Robb might at least offer up a 'thank you'.

Robb doesn't.

Theon watches him while they eat, feeling oddly flustered when Robb catches him at it, meeting his gaze. Robb looks amused, relaxed, like he's Theon's guest rather than his prisoner.

"Food to your liking?" It's nothing special, but Theon figures a common soldier might be used to worse.

Robb shrugs, as if he knows how much Theon wants him to be impressed. "It's food."

"We eat a lot of fish on the Iron Islands. Reckon you'd best get used to it," Theon says.

Robb's expression tells Theon that Robb doesn't plan on anything of the kind, because Robb plans on escaping as soon as he can. Theon wants to tell him that's never: unless Robb can work a skiff by himself, he's going to be trapped, and on the Islands, there's nowhere for an escaped prisoner to hide, so he might as well not bother, make things easier on everyone.

"You ever do any fishing?" Theon asks, by way of sounding out Robb on the topic of his sailing skills.

"Hunting," Robb says, then grimaces, as if he's given something away.

Theon decides to take this as an indication that Robb indeed has no experience with ships worth mentioning. "Good for you," he says. "Fishing's hard work, and fucking boring besides."

Robb's eyes narrow a bit in what might be disapproval. Maybe there's a couple of fishermen in his family or something, and he's offended on their behalf.

Robb spends another night in Theon's bed, which would be fine if Theon'd been in it, too, but he's not and it's not as if any ironborn needs a soft bed to sleep in, so there's no reason for Theon to feel the least embarrassed about it: he's giving Robb a bit of space, that's all. A bit of time to get settled in, to let the reality of his new situation get through to him.

A few of the men give him looks, so Theon glares at them, daring them to say something out loud. He'd welcome the fight, the chance to get some of the tension out of his system.

Soon enough, they'll reach Pyke, where Father waits, and Yara, and Theon knows he needs to keep a cool head for both those encounters.

(He also already knows that he's going to screw it up, because he always does.)

"Eight men," Father says. "Eight! Do you know how many men your sister lost on her last raid?"

"I got a prisoner." Theon doesn't want to bring up Robb this soon, but he'll be damned if he's going to sit here and let Father talk about him like this, talking about Yara like she's so much better than he is. Yara's lucky, that's all. A lucky captain - which means she gets all the best men, the best fighters, leaving Theon with the dregs, the ones who can't cut it in a crew like Yara's. "A Stark."

Father scoffs. "A Stark _man at arms_. Useless."

Theon tried to tell himself this is good news. After all, he doesn't want to have to turn Robb over, to be put in a cage and tortured for having picked the wrong house to serve.

"Well, he might make for some acceptable entertainment during the long nights, I suppose," Father says, right on cue.

Times like these, Theon wonders if he's been cursed somehow. "No." He wants to take back the word as soon as he's said it. Nothing good ever come of defying Father.

Robb - sure, Theon might want to fuck him, but it's not like he's never going to meet anyone else he wants in his bed ever again. And half the time - at least half the time, Theon almost wants to kill Robb himself, so he should really just shut up and let this happen.

"No? Whyever not?"

Theon's palms feel sweaty. He almost wishes Father hadn't asked, that Robb had simply been taken away, out of his reach, with no hope for Theon to save him. Now, whatever happens, Theon's going to feel responsible, like he could have prevented it somehow. "He - I - "

"I think Theon's taken him as his salt-wife. Or would that be salt-husband?"

Theon doesn't think he's ever been this glad to see or hear his sister. Yara, the incomparable. Yara of the many salt-wives. Yara, who's Father's favorite and confidante and can do no wrong.

Father looks at him with mild interest.

Theon wants to squirm. Technically, Robb's not his salt-wife or salt-husband. Yet. Theon'd need to have fucked him for that, and he hasn't. Really, really wanting to doesn't count.

"Well," Father says at last. "I suppose it's a start, at least."

They worship the Old Gods on the Islands. It's not considered a sin, to fuck men and women both, or only women, as Yara does. That's the good news. Theon can keep Robb as his salt-wife, and no one's going to think any less of him, think him any less than a man.

The bad news is that sooner or later (preferably sooner), he's still going to be expected to bring home a proper salt-wife, one who can give him babies.

Still, Theon figures it could have been worse.

"I brought those maps we talked about," Yara says, holding up the objects in question.

Father nods. Theon feels forgotten already, ignored. Dismissed.

"Your salt-wife?" Robb sounds amused. He looks calm, at ease. At home, almost, in Theon's rooms.

Theon supposes they are Robb's home now. "Or salt-husband, if you'd rather."

"I get a vote?" Robb's mouth doesn't grin, but there's something in his eyes.

Theon shrugs. He feels lost, adrift, out of his depth. He resents Robb for not making this easier, for not simply stripping and crawling into his bed, saying, 'I am yours'. This whole thing seemed a lot easier, a lot simpler back in the village.

It should still be easy and simple now. Theon knows what it means to take a salt-wife. He knows men who take salt-wives need to sleep with one eye open, just in case. He's seen salt-wives left out for the tide, for killing the man who thought they were strong enough to keep them for their own.

Yara's spoken out against it several times, claiming such women should be set free and rewarded rather than punished, and Theon stood by listening to her and not understanding how anyone could think that way, how Yara could say things like that and not be ashamed of sounding soft.

"You can call yourself what you like." It will be a lie either way.

Theon half-wants to tell Robb not to tell people they're not fucking, but then, who's going to ask?

Robb nods slowly, as if in agreement with Theon's thoughts. "Salt-husband, then. You can be the wife."

Theon flushes. "That's not how it works!" He knows Robb knows, that Robb's only baiting him.

"I know what it means for a woman to be made a salt-wife," Robb says, sounding cold again. "You should know that you will never have that of me."

"Like I'd even want to!" Theon says. He feels hot, both with humiliation and with the knowledge of the fact that it's a lie, that he does want Robb, even if Robb doesn't want him, will never want him - which is utterly unfair, given that Theon's saved his life two times already.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Fuck off," Theon says. He's not sure how he's going to manage the night. He can't not sleep in his own rooms, and he can't not keep Robb there, but he probably also can't assume Robb's not going to try to kill him in his sleep.

Yara sighs. "Father will come around. You surprised him, that's all. And me, too, I'll admit."

"He - " Theon starts, before he thinks better of it.

"He's your prisoner, Theon," Yara says. "Call him your salt-wife, your salt-husband, your sweetheart, I don't care. It doesn't change what he is. You claimed him. You're responsible now."

"I know that!" Theon can't even let Robb escape. Not that he'd want to, with the way Robb's been acting, but ... he couldn't. He'd look like a complete fool. "Do you think I don't know that?"

Yara gives him a look. "I think you're soft on him."

"I'm not."

Yara sighs again. "Theon. There's nothing wrong with being soft on someone. You're young, and he's good-looking. It happens. Just try not to think too much with your cock. And try not to get yourself killed. We'd miss you. I've only got one brother left, after all."

"Father wouldn't," Theon says, abandoning the argument on whether or not he's 'soft' on Robb as a lost cause. "He'd be over the moon, probably. You'd be the heir."

"That's not how things work here," Yara says. "No queen has ever ruled these islands."

"You're going to be the first," Theon says. He doesn't even feel bitter about it. Much.

"Gods willing." Yara smiles. "And I'd like for my little brother to be there. With or without his Stark soldier turned salt-wife. I mean this, Theon. Make up with him if you can. If not, get rid of him. You're allowed, and it's not like there's any chance he's with child, so you can do it any time you want."

"I've known him for less than a week!" Theon protests. It feels longer.

"So?" Yara shrugs. "Means it should be easy. Last girl you fucked, you got bored with her in - what? Three days?"

"I haven't - " Theon flushes.

Yara's expression is half-pity and half-exasperation. It's easy for her, of course. Women love Yara. Even some of Theon's - well, he was done with them anyway, so it's not as if he cared. Why should he care if Yara helps herself to his sloppy seconds?

Robb is already asleep by the time Theon gets back. He's made a nest of blankets for himself - _a wolf's nest,_ Theon thinks. It looks warm and comfortable.

Theon's own bed looks cold and too big by comparison. Theon supposes he could find a girl, have himself some fun, and too bad if he wakes up Robb. He imagines Robb looking at him fuck someone else, with those eyes of his, cool and uncaring until he isn't anymore, until Theon pushes the girl away, because she was never what he wanted anyway, how could he want a girl when he could have Robb instead?

He imagines Robb coming to him like a wolf stalking its prey, wary and alert, but also determined, insistent. Theon's going to work him open slowly, before he lets Robb settle himself on Theon's cock, with Theon lying back and letting Robb do all the work, allowing Robb to take him in all the way before Theon starts to move, too, to make Robb feel what it's like, to be fucked by a prince.

Robb would enjoy it, Theon thinks. He'd try to be quiet about it, at least in the beginning, but Theon would keep going, and sooner or later, Robb would give in and let Theon hear how much Robb's enjoying getting fucked by him, how much Robb's been wanting this from their first meeting.

Theon swallows. He feels too hot, too worked up to make do with just his hand, even if he knows that he will, thinking of Robb all the time, trying to trick himself into believing it's Robb's hand on his cock instead of his own.

Knowing Robb's right there, that Robb might be watching, listening, makes it both better and worse. Mostly better, Theon thinks, given how quickly he comes; he's barely even touched himself, but that only makes it worse how this isn't going to work out the way he wants to in the long run.

Since fucking's not going to happen, Theon figures he'll have to settle for fighting instead. That, at least, Robb seems game for, and he's not half-bad, either, for a Stark soldier. Or anyone, if Theon's honest.

Leaving aside the less than satisfactory state of Theon's bed, the next few weeks are pretty good. Theon enjoys spending more time with Robb, (practice) fighting with Robb, and talking with Robb, and eating with Robb, and watching Robb when he's sleeping or just doesn't have anything to say.

Part of Theon is aware that Yara's keeping Father off his back, but he tells himself it's not as if she's doing it out of charity; the more time she gets to spend with Father, the stronger her position when the time comes to take the throne. It's practical thinking, that's all.

Once or twice, Yara watches him and Robb at practice. Theon figures she wants to know what she'll be up against, if worst comes to worst.

"You know, most men, when they know my sister's watching, they make a bit of an extra effort."

Robb half-smiles. "I am not most men."

Theon wants to kiss him, to let Robb get down on his knees and suck him off, with Theon's hands buried in his hair, holding him in place. "Smart. She doesn't like men, anyway."

"That's a shame," Robb says, his tone lacking all sincerity. "For those other men, I mean."

Theon grins. "So what's your type, then?"

Robb glances at Yara. "Not her."

"How about me?" Theon grins. He tried to, anyway. It shouldn't matter to him what Robb's type is, whether or not it's Theon, but it does. If he can't have Robb, Theon wants to at least know he could have, if only Robb hadn't gotten all stupid over Theon claiming him as his salt-wife, or whatever Robb's reason is for acting like he doesn't even have a cock.

"No," Robb says.

Theon tells himself it does not sound like a 'yes'. (It does. Theon's heard girls say 'no' when they mean 'yes' plenty enough times to be able to tell.) "I thought Starks were supposed to be honorable."

Robb pales a bit, before he flushes. "We are. They are. My father - "

Theon doesn't really want to hear about Robb's dad. "So how about you tell me the truth, then."

"I - " Robb says, still looking a bit unsettled. Probably remembering what his father used to do to him when he told a lie, Theon figures. So maybe Robb's dad isn't that much better than Theon's, after all.

"Theon!" Yara calls. "Come over here for a bit! There's news!"

Theon's not sure what's it to him if Robb Stark has gone missing. It's not even a certainty; more like a rumor someone's passed on, probably in the hopes of getting paid.

"They're saying no one's seen your lord's son for almost a month," he tells Robb over dinner. It seems polite to share, and it's not as if it won't be all over Pyke by nightfall anyway.

"Which one?" Robb asks, sounding not particularly interested, more like he's humoring Theon.

Theon almost wishes Robb would humor him when it comes to the whole salt-wife thing, too. It'd be something, at least, and Theon's sure he could get Robb to be more enthusiastic about it once they got started. "Your namesake," he says. "Robb Stark."

Robb bites his lip, like there's something he wants to say but doesn't.

Theon wonders if Robb's ever met any of them, Lord Stark and his wife, and what - five kids? And the bastard son. He wonders what they're like, if Robb chose to serve the Starks because he actually likes them, or just because he lives in the North and the Starks rule there.

There are other houses in the North, of course. Lesser houses. Yara's tangled with some of them.

"Don't suppose you know his where-abouts? Might be a reward in it," Theon says. The heir to Winterfell - now there's a prize Theon could be proud to bring home.

"A reward," Robb says, voice flat. "Such as what? My freedom?"

"You don't know a thing." Theon supposes it would be a good trade. He'd be able to claim he simply got tired of Robb, and no one'd need to know different. "Do you?"

"More than you," Robb says.

"Not about ships, you don't. Or bowmanship. Or love-making. Or anything else that's important," Theon says.

"Ships and archery and sex. Is that all that matters to you?" Robb asks.

'And you', Theon almost adds. "Not all," he says instead. "Anyway, what about you?"

"Honor," Robb says, as if he's been waiting for Theon to ask. "Justice."

Theon chuckles. "You sound like a Stark. Bet you that other Robb would say the same."

"Yes," Robb says.

"Not that he'd mean it, of course." Theon knows honor and justice are both rubbish. It wasn't honor or justice that killed his brothers. It was just war. Life. Fate. It didn't have anything to do with lofty ideals.

Yara corners him one afternoon after practice. 

"It's him, isn't it?"

Theon frowns at her. "Him, what? Him, who? What are you talking about?"

Yara hisses something under her breath. "The missing Stark cub. He's your salt-wife. He didn't even bother changing his name." She stares at him, eyes narrowed. "_You_ didn't even bother changing his name. Are you crazy, or just stupid? What, were you thinking Father would never find out?"

"Fuck's sake, he's not - " Theon shuts up. It _could_ be, he supposes. Hypothetically. Maybe.

"You have to tell him," Yara says.

Theon pictures telling Robb - what? He could ask point blank. Robb might lie. He might not lie. He might really be Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell. He might not really be Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell.

"Theon. You have to tell him," Yara repeats. "I'll come with you. You can explain - "

"Explain what?" A bit late, it occurs to Theon that she's not talking about telling Robb. "He'll kill him! Or worse! Lord Stark killed my brothers, you know he did. If you tell him Robb's - you can't. Yara. Please."

"Then what? If I can figure it out, others will, too. You have to make a choice."

Theon decides to focus on what's important here: they're no longer talking about turning Robb over to Father anymore. "I'll think of something."

"No, you won't," Yara says. "You'll make a mess. You always do. You know this, Theon. And then it will be up to me and mine to clean it up, and you know what, I don't give a fuck about your sweetheart. I'll kill him. I'll make it quick and I'll make it clean, but I'll still kill him. Is that what you want?"

"That's your big idea? Kill him?" Theon doesn't think it's a very good idea.

Yara scowls. "I hope he makes you suffer as much as you're making me suffer."

"He does." Theon doesn't even need to think about that one. "You know how long it's been since I've had a girl?"

Yara grimaces. "No, and I don't want to know either, thanks. But fine. Let's do this."

'This' turns out to be Theon and Robb, in a small fisherman's skiff, on a sea that looks less than calm.

"You didn't tell me," Theon says. He feels hurt, betrayed. He's been honest with Robb, after all, never pretending he was anyone other than who he was. Robb should've been honest right back. Then they wouldn't have been in this mess.

Admittedly, Robb would have probably been dead by now, or at least missing a few bits and pieces.

"You never asked," Robb says. "And I never lied to you."

Theon digs through his memory. "You said I wasn't your type."

"I never lied to you about anything important," Robb amends.

"You wanting me to fuck you as much as I wanting to fuck you isn't important?" Theon asks. "Fuck you. You know how many nights I've been making do with my own hand when all the time, I could've been fucking you instead?"

"I know." Robb looks back over Theon's shoulder.

Theon considers. "You're the quiet type, aren't you?" Well, with two brothers (three, counting the bastard) and two sisters, he supposes Robb didn't have much of a choice. "Bet you I can change that."

"Looking forwards to it," Robb says.

"Ha!" Theon says. They're going to Winterfell. No Greyjoy has ever gone to Winterfell. It's too far from the coast, too well-defended. Winterfell is where the Starks are, the murderers of the two brothers Theon's never known.

If they were anything like Yara, he hasn't missed much.

"My father is an honorable man," Robb says. "He will welcome you. After all, you saved my life."

"I didn't do anything. It was all Yara," Theon says.

Robb half-grins. "I'll tell him I made you my salt-wife."

"I suppose he might like that better than the other way around," Theon says. He's not sure. Nobody in Pyke talks much about Lord Stark, other than to curse his name and to call him a coward, for running away.

"No. He won't care, and anyway, I'm not going to tell him that much. He's my father. It would be like - " Robb shakes his head. "I'll tell him we're friends. Good friends."

"Best friends," Theon says. "Who fuck."

Robb gives him a look. "Best friends." It sounds like a concession as well as a gentle hint.

"I'm not going to take you all the way to Winterfell if you're not even going to let me - I'm not _that_ crazy. Fair's fair," Theon says. "You owe me."

"Yes," Robb says. "I do."

Theon's not sure how he's supposed to take this. It's what he wants to hear, and yet. "So if you're not my salt-husband anymore and I'm not going to be your salt-wife, who of us is going to - "

"We can draw straws or something. I don't care," Robb says. "We'll work it out."

Theon thinks about that for a bit, about him and Robb 'working it out'. It doesn't sound all bad, and he supposes that if he gets to fuck Robb, it'd be sort of fair if Robb gets to fuck him, too.

It might be pretty fun, actually, them 'working it out' - assuming they'll get the chance, of course.

"Are you sure your dad's not going to have me killed?" Yara seemed pretty convinced, and Robb seems very convinced, but Theon knows that if he showed up the way Robb's going to, Father wouldn't exactly throw a feast.

"Yes," Robb says, looking at him in a way that makes Theon almost believe Robb's spent as many nights pretending his hand wasnt his as Theon has.

Theon swallows, then nods. It's not as if he has any other choice, anyway. "Fine. Then let's go to Winterfell."


End file.
